SBURB SWERVE
by PunkKaworu
Summary: The students seem uneasy about the fact that expulsion was such a loose concept. Was whoever decided expulsion rules out to expel everyone? Who was in charge? Why did he want this? Does he even know what expulsion means at this point? Whoever he is he must be a crazy-ass motherfucker. Semi-psychopathic to abuse such a power. Homies gettin expelled for tying their shoelace wrong.
1. JOHN ENTER

Okay, so this is my first homestuck story. Its going to be a real-world school AU. For character introductions leading up to going to the school, it will be essentially in the same format as the original story as not to deviate too far from canon characterization and events. It was really easy to copy and paste, so most of the text of first chapters will belong to Andrew Hussie, with minor changes. So, i guess if you really read homestuck you don't need to read the first 4 chapters. Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie.

* * *

A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, August 26th, is this young man's first day at his new school. What will the name of this young man be?

**JOHN EGBERT.**

What else did you think it would be?

His name is JOHN. As was previously mentioned it is his FIRST DAY. A number of CLOTHES are scattered about his room. He has a variety of INTERESTS. He has a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES. He likes to program computers but he is NOT VERY GOOD AT IT. He has a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE, and is an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN and SMOKE PELLETS. You also like to play GAMES sometimes. He is looking for his FAKE ARMS which are located in his MAGIC CHEST to pack for his LUGGAGE for BOARDING SCHOOL. JOHN reads a note left on his drawer. This note is rich with the aromas of FATHERLY AFTERSHAVES AND COLOGNES. The note reads:

_**HAPPY FIRST DAY SON.**_

_**I AM SO PROUD OF YOU**__._

Beside the note is a ROLLED UP POSTER. Another GOODBYE ARTIFACT. He wonders what is printed on the poster. He'll need some way to hang it on his dorm wall. He acquires a nail and hammer. They will come in handy. He guesses it doesn't hurt to try. In any case, he now feels like he has gathered enough things to get down to business and do some really important stuff. The next thing he does will probably be exceptionally meaningful. He feels the sudden urge to squawk like an imbecile and shit on his desk. He recognizes that is STUPID STUPID STUPID and the worst idea he has had all week… And yet, the polished surface of his desk… it beckons.

He decides to just nail the poster now. It is revealed to be a Little Monsters poster. It's glorious. The old man really came through this time. He examines his calendar. He's marked his first day, the 26th of August. The other day he marked was supposed to be the arrival date of his official acceptance letter to the highly touted SBURB ACADEMY.

He hears a notice from his COMPUTER. Someone is messaging him. He pulls up to his COMPUTER. This is where he spends most of his time. He decorated his desktop with some rather handsome WALLPAPER which he made himself. He is really proud of it.

His desktop is also littered with various PROGRAMMING PROJECT FILES. He is so bad at programming sometimes he wonders why he even bothers with it.

His PESTERCHUM application is flashing. Someone is trying to get in touch with him.

- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13 -

TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today

EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, after i get to school. the applejuice scene was so funny.

TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here

EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage?

TG: but

TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken

TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory

EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle?

EB: try using your brain numbnuts.

TG: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like

TG: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous

EB: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice.

TG: ok i can accept that

TG: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters

TG: also fred savage has a really punchable face

TG: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it

TG: did you get your letters yet

EB: no. its near here anyways, so it doesnt really matter when i get it.

EB: did you?

TG: man i got two copies already

TG: did you see how it got slammed on tumblr?

EB: tumblr is a joke and we both know it.

TG: yeah

TG: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now

EB: alright.

* * *

The little red arm-swingy-dealy thing or whatever it is called is flipped up!

What the hell is that thing called anyway. He does not have time for these semantics. The red flippy-lever thing means he has new mail. And that means the letter might be here! He is about to hurry down stairs when he hears a car pull into the driveway. It looks like his DAD has returned from the grocery store. Oh great. He is beating JOHN to the mail.

If JOHN goes down stairs to get it, DAD will likely monopolize hours of his time. He decides to chill out up here for a while until the dust settles.

Sometimes he feels like he is trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.

And now his chum is pestering him again. The clockwork of friendship turns ceaselessly, operating the swing-lever dealies of harassment in perpetuity!

Whatever. The dude can just hold his damn horses. In a moment of anger, John accidently re-captchalouges his arms again. He decided to change his pesterchum status. He doesn't think the situation is quite dire enough to go all the way to "RANCOROUS", but he still feels the PESTERCHUM client should reflect his mood change in some way.

"BULLY" will have to do. He guesses. This unsurprisingly does nothing whatsoever.

Oh, right, you forgot your chum is still pestering you.

TG: is it there

TG: plz say yes

TG: maybe you can see TT there shes been pestering me all day about it

TG: shes mackin on me so hard all the time i start to feel embarrassed for her

TG: i mean not that i can blame her or anything

EB: yes, it is understandable because you are really attractive. i am attracted to you.

TG: thank you

EB: jk haha.

EB: no, i don't have it yet.

EB: my dad has the mail and i guess i have to go get it from him and see if it's there.

John stuck the FAKE ARMS in the CAKE on his bed. This definitely makes the CAKE at least 300% more hilarious. He's sure everyone would know the precise index of elevated hilarity.

* * *

John checks tumblr for the article on SBURB ACADEMY. His favorite blog is hetaheart, by far.

"So Okay. SBURB is this school that a lot of cats seem hella pumped of. And this brochure is sitting on my desk for review, so i'm like yeah i'll write something…" The rest is unintelligible gibberish. I'm not going to type five paragraphs of that. Basically they said it sucks.

John combines his BEAGLE PUSS with his MAGICIAN'S HAT to create a CLEVER DISGUISE. _John? Who is this "John" you speak of? You are quite certain there has never been, nor ever will be... _Yeah, this is a really shitty disguise.

He goes out of his room and downstairs. The accursed odor of fresh baking wafts into his newfound nostrils. Something is brewing in the KITCHEN. It must be the connivings of his arch nemesis, BETTY CROCKER, and the rich, buttery aroma of her plot stinks to high heaven. This mission is going to be more difficult than he imagined.

He checks out the shelves of FANCIFUL HARLEQUINS. Look at this fucking garbage. He hates this stuff. Funny is funny, but your DAD sure can be a real cornball. Sometimes at night John prays for burglars.

John adds his father's pipe to his CLEVER DISGUISE. He then examines the OVERSIZED GIFT in the living room. It reads:

**_CHAMP._**

**_YOU CAN DO ANYTHING IF YOU PUT YOUR MIND TO IT . _**

**_I BELIEVE IN YOU._**

Contemplating what could be inside this package is sort of exciting, but it makes him a little nervous at the same time. _Oh hell no._

Its a massive HARLEQUIN DOLL. John just got another BRILLIANT idea for something to do with those pointless arms. He prys them out of the CAKE in his room and captchalogues them.

* * *

Looks like PESTERCHUM is acting up again. A new friend is contacting him...

TT: I understand you have recently come into possession of the invitation letter from "The School of the Year", as featured in respectable periodicals such as reliable Tumblr blogs.

EB: that's an ugly rumor.

EB: whoever told you that is a filthy liar.

EB: and you should probably stop hitting on him all the time or whatever.

TT: I can't control myself.

TT: I must have a weakness for insufferable pricks.

EB: anyway i still haven't checked the mail, my dad has it.

EB: i'm trying to go get it from him, so brb

TT: John.

EB: what?

TT: You're wearing one of your disguises now, aren't you?

TT: You are typing to me right now while wearing something ridiculous.

EB: no, why would you even think that?

EB: that's so stupid.

TT: Ok.

TT: Why don't you go get the letter from your father?

EB: alright, wish me luck.

EB: oh, btw...

EB: jk I was wearing a funny disguise this whole time.

EB: gotcha! hehehehe

TT: I know, John.

The door on the left leads to the KITCHEN, from which the smell of baking wafts - a powerful aroma which could lift an especially portly hobo off his feet. The door on the right leads to the STUDY, where John's DAD spends a lot of time. He could be in either room. John went to the study. On the desk is a DECK OF PLAYING CARDS, one of his DAD'S PIPES, and the August issue of THE SERIOUS JESTER magazine. There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. John won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon.

A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

John's DAD maintains numerous pipes around the household. A father without a pipe is like a strapping roughneck without a toothpick. That is to say, HE IS A RATHER PISS-POOR EXCUSE FOR A ROUGHNECK IF YOU ASK ME. He'd rather not take the PIPE, though. The first one tastes bad enough as it is.

How John suffers for his comedy.

In sorrow, John plays a haunting piano refrain. He plays the prankster's favorite card game, 52 Pick-Up even though he is alone in the room, thus rendering it an especially foolish version of Solitaire. SO STUPID. Look at this mess. The peanut gallery over there sure is getting a kick out of it. John is allergic to their scorn. Them and their taunting joker faces.

* * *

John goes back into the LIVING ROOM and contemplates checking the mailbox outside. He thinks perhaps he should exhaust all possibilities before plunging headlong into a DAD encounter. His TELEVISION is currently airing a COMMERCIAL.

John goes outside and checks the mailbox. Predictably, the mailbox is empty. He had already been scooped by his father. The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

It is your first day of highschool, and as with the two schools preceding it, something feels missing from your life. The school presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket. His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all.

"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." -Walt Whitman. Yes, you are certain Walt Whitman said that. One hundred percent positive.

You have a feeling it's going to be a long day...

* * *

(at the school not too long after)

John looks at his invitation in his hand.

~After a strife-full emotional goodbye with his DAD, the proud father easily handed his son his acceptance letter. He drove his son to SBURB Academy, which is no less than an hour away from their beautiful northwestern home. Americans don't usually get into this school, so his father was even prouder of his nerd of a son than he is every other day. His son and his foreign connections got him and his friends an eligible spot. They all had easily passed entrance exams, and are all set to attend the prestigious boarding school on this glorious August 26th.


	2. ROSE ENTER

Disclaimer: _For character introductions leading up to going to the school, it will be essentially in the same format as the original story as not to deviate too far from canon characterization and events. It was really easy to copy and paste, so most of the text of first chapters will belong to Andrew Hussie, with minor changes. Homestuck also belongs to Andrew Hussie. _Wow so rereading homestuck is amazing. I almost can't fucking believe Rose did all that shit. Anyways, here it is.

A young lady stands in her bedroom. This young lady named... Named...

It's on the tip of your tongue. What was the name of this young lady again?

**ROSE LALONDE **

What else were you expecting?

Her name is ROSE. She has a variety of INTERESTS. She has a passion for RATHER OBSCURE LITERATURE. She enjoys creative writing and is SOMEWHAT SECRETIVE ABOUT IT. She has a fondness for the BESTIALLY STRANGE AND FICTITIOUS, and sometimes dabbles in PSYCHOANALYSIS. She also likes to KNIT, and her room is a BIT OF A MESS. And on occasion, if just the right one strikes her fancy, she likes to play VIDEO GAMES with her friends. What will she do? Rose feels the urge to writhe like a flagellum and puke on her bed. But ugh, what a terrible idea! The thought alone makes her sick to her stomach. She also feels the urge to stroke her writing journal and mutter "my precious", but she would only resort to such an embarrassing activity while no one was watching! These journals are for her eyes only. She captchlogues her violin, storing it in the root slot of her sylladex. She begins to play a haunting refrain, wasting approximately 40 seconds despite the fact that she should be packing. She has a flight to Washington she needs to take shortly to get to SBURB ACADEMY. Nice time management skills there, sweetheart! She gets her KNITTING BAG.

Her panoramic window offers a view of her yard below, and the mausoleum housing her dead cat, JASPERS, who died when she was young. Her MOM had the structure erected with a spirit of scornful IRONY in response to her youthfully innocent request to hold a funeral for the animal. At least, that is how she has come to interpret the gesture in retrospect.

She takes her LAPTOP and prepare to make the journey through the house.

Rose took her Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious. This book is absolutely indispensable for enthusiasts of your ilk. Of which there are very few. She takes the GRIMOIRE.

She leaves her BEDROOM looking for her COOLEST BAG. Hanging just next to her door in the hallway is a painting of an EXQUISITE WIZARD. Her mother collects these awful things IRONICALLY. She must know how much she detests them, and there is no doubt in her mind she stores these dreadful things in the house to bother her.

Her mother's room is also in that direction. Rose will have to watch her step. She approaches a juncture in the hallway. Beyond the juncture is the OBSERVATORY, where she left her COOLEST BAG last. Rose did really sneaky moves all the way to this door. Which door? This door. This door leads up to the OBSERVATORY. She hasn't ventured up there in quite some time. The door opens to an exterior walkway, leading to the observatory entrance.

She quickly equips her knitting needles as her weapon, (but not her Grimoire book because forces that dark should not be tampered with) in fear of a sudden attack. She wants to stop to quickly read her book once again. That would also be a preposterous waste of time!

Besides, she's quite sure she's never heard of this creature called "Cthulhu" before. There are however many other specimens of the ZOOLOGICALLY DUBIOUS she's familiar with. She enters the observatory through the storm and quickly finds her COOLEST BAG. She quickly exits again to return to packing.

Rose looks up at the sky. She wonders if this rain will ever let up. It's driven since the month began, perhaps long enough to forget its purpose. It no longer even knows to assuage fire. Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton.

How you hate this season. "August is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain." -American sports legend, Charles Barkley.

Rose attempts to psychoanalyze her mother's fear of wizards. There is nothing to psychoanalyze. Her mother clearly has no real affinity for these damnable things. She only collects them to spite Rose. If anything, she finds them even more repellent than Rose does. She's just a committed woman. She descends to the living room area of her home's expansive open layout. There's the front door. But hopefully there's no need to make the long trek around the house in the rain. Rose might as well see if you can slip through the kitchen and out the back way to her room unnoticed. Rose observes the bronze statue she made on the way to her room. A while ago she gave this as an ironic gift to her MOM for mother's day. She even customized it with a drink holder to support one of her ubiquitous ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES.

She "liked" the gift so much, she had it bronzed and put on this pedestal. She even left it plugged in so it can still be turned on now and then. But never to do any cleaning. It never leaves this display. Sometimes at night when Rose is in her room, she can hear it wailing from downstairs. She MUST know you can hear it. She's completely deranged. Peeking in the kitchen, Rose noticed the LIQUOR BOTTLES out in full force. MOM is surely nearby. Rose looks at the fridge. The poem and picture she drew of her cat Jaspers when she was younger decorated with a $15,000 dollar frame and welded into the door haunts her.

Rose's mother was deranged. Recently, Rose had left a succinct message, which may or may not have been directed toward anyone in particular on the fridge. It was "shrew" with two v's because they didn't have w's. Her mother, of course, purchased a fresh pack of Ws for Rose's convenience. Rose, of course, appreciative of the thoughtful gesture, left her a sincere THANK YOU NOTE that she had legally notarized, and marked with a drop of blood. Her mother, of course, when seeing the note was touching the floor, placed a velvet pillow under the lower portion.

Rose promptly attached the W magnet to her face as a fake mustache. This is incredibly silly, and she's not sure how it fits into her campaign against her mother, OR getting back to her room to get ready for her flight.

But it's hard to resist getting a little silly sometimes. Especially when she is absolutely positive no one is watching.

Rose takes that w, but that unsightly void in the W pack won't do, nor will the gash in the plastic.

She deposits 12 CENTS in its place, which is your approximation of the letter's value. She also makes a vow to return later and neatly sew the plastic shut.

Rose now wonders how to address the pillow situation. It seems the woman has her at a clear disadvantage. Perhaps slipping a fresh doily under the pillow will do the trick? Or maybe spilling a bit of WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE on it, and then having it dry-cleaned and returned along with a laboriously ingratiating apology note? No, there's no time for anything like that. Or maybe (just thinking out loud here) she could use the entire pack of W's as M's? Oh yes, that would burn. But she's already done something with that W pack, and there's no need to go back and gild that lily. This is delicate business. And that pillow is screaming for rebuttal.

She takes the pillow when all of sudden her mother appears out of nowhere! Rose doesn't know how she does that. She's never safe in this house. She's up to her IRONIC HOUSEWIFE routine again. That mop bucket doesn't even have any water in it! What an absolute madwoman.

Rose hops over the counter landing in a roll, also known as a "youth roll" She lands in wizards, almost busting her ass. Lousy goddamn stupid wizards. Rose runs to her room quickly, avoiding contact. Full of years of repressed aggression, she packs the rest of her clothes to prepare for her first-class flight with her $7,000 luggage.

* * *

_SBURB Academy is one of the greatest schools in America. It is somewhat less known compared to other boarding schools due to the fact that it mainly only accepts foreign students from "obscure" countries. American students are almost guaranteed enrollment by assisting the school's staff in finding eligible foreign students. Graduates of this high school are well known for having international success and are all well known in developed society. We he here at SBURB Academy are awarded for having the most culturally diverse student and staff community in the world. _

_SBURB Academy is also known for having the best dorms of all boarding schools in addition to having very interesting rules on expulsion, student perks, and class organization. All of those rules will be introduced in detail at the school's orientation. No one can enter the school without an invitation, so be very careful to not lose it. _

Rose looks at the brochure, then back up towards the school. It is massive. Through the border of high rainbow colored gates it seems infinite. The color is motherfucking hideous. It looks like a kindergartner chose the colors. The school itself is felt-green. All 10 acres of it. A hideous tacky green. The gates have gold and red and other tacky bright colors in a pattern outlining the school. No wonder it got slammed on tumblr. Shit's tacky as fuck. Rose thinks it looked a lot better on the brochure.


	3. DAVE ENTER

_Disclaimer: For character introductions leading up to going to the school, it will be essentially in the same format as the original story as not to deviate too far from canon characterization and events. It was really easy to copy and paste, so most of the text of first chapters will belong to Andrew Hussie, with minor changes. Homestuck also belongs to Andrew Hussie. Dave's Chapter is long and tedious but it was fin to do anyway. He was cuter when he was innocent, no?_

There's this really cool dude, ok? He's standing around being all chill, like cool dudes are known to do sometimes. A cool dude like this probably has a real cool name. But he probably wouldn't just tell you what it was if you asked. He'd be way too busy for that. Busy being totally sweet. But you could always try to guess his name. And if you were right, he might nod ever so slightly. That's a cool dude's way of letting you know there might just be hope for you yet.

This guy doesn't have time for this sort of bullshit. His name is DAVE.

It is an UNSEASONABLY WARM August day. His BEDROOM WINDOW is open to let some air in, and his FAN is cranked. Arguably even more cranked would be his FLY BEATS, which brings us to his variety of INTERESTS. A cool dude like him is sure to have plenty. He has a penchant for spinning out UNBELIEVABLY ILL JAMS with his TURNTABLES AND MIXING GEAR. He likes to rave about BANDS NO ONE'S EVER HEARD OF BUT HIM. He collects WEIRD DEAD THINGS PRESERVED IN VARIOUS WAYS. He is an AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER and operates his own MAKESHIFT DARKROOM. He maintains a number of IRONICALLY HUMOROUS BLOGS, WEBSITES, AND SOCIAL NETWORKING PROFILES. And if the inspiration strikes, he won't hesitate to drop some PHAT RHYMES on a mofo and REPRESENT.

What will he do? Bleat like a goat and piss on his turntable. No, no! He would never consider allowing any fluid even remotely resembling urine to touch his beloved TURNTABLES. That would risk breaking them, and a world without the gift of his godly science just doesn't sound like a place he wants any part of. While he's at it, he might as well wipe out human civilization with a meteor or something ridiculous like that which will probably never happen. That sort of thing only happens in stupid idiot movies for stupid idiots. He will however contemplate bleating like a goat for IRONICALLY HUMOROUS purposes at a later date.

Dave examines his closet. This is his closet. This is where he keeps a lot of his crap. Like that BOX. And that bottle of... what is that? Is that...? This is the package that his friend John Egbert sent him for his 13th birthday a little while ago. It now contains nothing except a NOTE and a CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY vouching for the genuine Hollywood memorabilia which the box originally contained, and which he is now wearing to be IRONIC but also to be INCREDIBLY COOL IN A WAY SOMEHOW INTANGIBLY RELATED TO THE IRONIC NATURE OF THE ACCESSORY. He finds it sort of exasperating to explain these subtleties to people. The BOX also included a signed photo of BEN STILLER which now proudly hangs above his closet. Proudly and IRONICALLY. Dave examines a jar of unknown yellow substance in the hell yes. It is an unopened container of APPLE JUICE. Dave thought he was all out. It is like fucking christmas up in here. This is so great. He's got to tell John about this immediately. John'll be so excited. In addition to letting his buddy know about this outstanding juice windfall, he figures he'll wish him a first day while he's at it. In his own cool, sort of roundabout way of course. Good thing Dave looked at that box John sent him, or you might have forgotten. He also might as well ask him about the school. The kid's been harping about it for weeks. He's be one happy camper.

- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13 -

TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today

EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, after i get to school. the applejuice scene was so funny.

TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here

EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage?

TG: but

TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken

TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory

EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle?

EB: try using your brain numbnuts.

TG: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like

TG: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous

EB: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice.

TG: ok i can accept that

TG: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters

TG: also fred savage has a really punchable face

TG: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it

TG: did you get your letters yet

EB: no. its near here anyways, so it doesnt really matter when i get it.

EB: did you?

TG: man i got two copies already

TG: did you see how it got slammed on tumblr?

EB: tumblr is a joke and we both know it.

TG: yeah

TG: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now

EB: alright.

Dave opens the HEPHAESTUS web browser and directs it to his ironically maintained blog where he posts monthly satirical reviews of tumblr. His latest post is a review of a post last month. He's been meaning to write a review for that latest post too, but He's been sort of dogging it. Something about their reviewing just doesn't strike you as ripe for satirical purposes. In a new tab Dave opens another one of his sites, a webcomic ironically maintained through a satirical cipher vaguely similar to that of his blog. It's called SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF. He has legions of devoted fans, most of whom are totally convinced of his creative persona's sincerity. Which is just how he likes it. Dave just doesn't have time for this bullshit. He'll catch up later. He needs to prepare for his flight to SBURB ACADEMY. Besides, it looks like someone's pestering him. Dave's pretty sure he know who it is.

TT: In some cultures the persistent refusal of a lady's invitation to meet with her would be a sign wanton disrespect.

TT: Either that, or flagrant homosexuality.

TG: what oh no

TG: no look

TG: im busy ok

TG: ive got a lot of shit on my plate

TG: i am sort of a big deal ok?

TT: I know.

TT: Sometimes I wonder how you are ever allowed to pay for meals in restaurants.

TT: It must be hard to keep a low profile when you're always overhearing awed voices whisper, "It's that guy who has a blog."

TG: seriously

TG: dudes be worshipping me left and right

TG: i cant hardly walk down the street without stepping over torsos of the prostrate

TT: Navigating the urban landscape I'm sure is difficult enough without an obstacle course of deferential flesh and skyward asses.

TT: Perhaps adapting the art of parkour to your unique environment would help?

TG: yeah!

TG: i mean damn

TG: like theres this scruffy little shit at my feet

TG: an orphan or something i dont know

TG: face flush on the pavement

TG: im like dude you listening for a stampede of buffalo or something?

TG: he braves a look at me then gives my shoe a little kiss and scurries the fuck off

TT: Heavy is the crown.

TG: yeah

TG: not kicking oliver twist in the fucking face every day is my gift to the world i guess

TT: Breathtaking magnanimity!

TG: among other things

TG: i just give and fucking give

TT: Indeed, nary a jewel tumbles from your wishbox of daily exploits which I imagine does not sparkle.

TG: oh for fucks sake

Dave, who's had enough of the computer for a while, decided to play some hauntingly sick beats. He feels like he's been messing around on his computer all week. It's time to get his jam on. He pulls up to his trusty AKAI MPC-1000 SAMPLER and prepares to get sicknasty. And sicknasty he got. Those beats were so fresh they belong in the produce aisle, is what he's talkin' about. Soccer moms be thumpin' that shit for ripeness like melons. Know what I'm sayin'?

After beats that fresh, it would be a crime not to reward himself with a celebratory SWIG. But alas, Dave couldn't do it. John's got you all twisted up inside now. All you can think about is Mandel's gross monster piss. Damn you, Egbert! In disgust, Dave accidentally throws his apple juice all over his turntables and copy of the invitation to SBURB. Dave heads out to get a TOWEL from the bathroom across the hall. He glances at one of the many RADICAL PUPPETS in his BRO'S collection and nods in approval. Is there anything not awesome about BRO? No, Dave thinks not. When Dave enters the bathroom, there's a damp towel on the floor he can probably use for this crisis. He stops to pay a little respect to one of his BRO'S boys up there. Hey lil' man. How's it hangin'? Dave rings the towel out in the toilet to make it less damp, cleans his turntables, and hangs his wet invitation on his clothesline to dry off.

In the breeze of the FAN, the invitation jostles near the OPEN WINDOW. This arrangement is a little disconcerting. If they fell out, it sure would be a stupid way to lose them. The crisis is easily averted. Dave can't imagine it will ever resurface later in any way, shape, or form. That invite is as good as his, forever. Dave thought he should probably go pester Egbert again. He wonders if John found the invite yet. Probably not. It's probably not even humanly possi…

Suddenly a RAMBUNCTIOUS CROW flies in the open window and snatches the invite, possibly to make a nest with, or maybe just for the sake of being a brainless feathery asshole. Dave yells at the bird. Dave didn't realize he had his ninja sword in his hand. When he held out his hand to tell the crow to stop, he accidentally launched it. Everything goes flying out the window, dead bird and all. Dave hold both hands over his mouth in shock. No one can ever know about this. Yeah, Dave can kiss all that stuff goodbye. He feels sorry for the bird. But dude, that bird is long gone. It probably won't last long in this heat anyway.

Dave doesn't even know what's up with this sick heat. The sun threatens to set but won't step off. It's staring him down, like the big red eye of a hot needle skipping on a groove its tracing 'round the earth. While lingering in midair its heat seems to suspend time itself, stretching it like warped vinyl. It's meant to rain this season but there ain't been a drop in sight. Even a little drizzle would help. Might help to fizzle this sizzle a little bizzle, set the record straight on this global turn-tizzle.

"So don't change the dizzle,

turn it up a little

I got a living room full of fine dime brizzles

Waiting on the Pizzle,

the Dizzle and the Shizzle G's

to the bizzack, now ladies here we gizzo

When the pimp's in the crib ma

Drop it like it's hot Drop it like it's hot

Drop it like it's hot..."

-English Romantic poet, John Keats

Dave exits his room, going into the living room and enters his BRO's room. He removes the PUPPET that was sitting there, he felt that he had left him hanging long enough. Dave hastily entered the room with wild abandon. Barging in, he sees a familiar face. A friendly face. A Mr. T PUPPET, of course. Dave stands in the living room. His BRO spends most of his days in here. At night he crashes on the FUTON over there. Dave doesn't see him anywhere though. There's the PUPPET CHEST he stores LIL' CAL in when he takes him out on gigs. But when he's home he usually leaves CAL on display somewhere. And with good reason cause CAL is totally sweet. So sweet. Man.

Dave takes a moment to pity da fool, with his brother's MR. T PUPPET, which of course is kept in the apartment with a sense of profound humorous irony. But as usual with BRO's exploits, this is no ordinary irony, or anything close to a pedestrian TIER 1 IRONIC GESTURE which is a meager single step removed from sincerity. This is like ten levels of irony removed from the original joke. It might have been funny like eight years ago to joke about Mr. T and how he was sort of lame, but that was the very thing that made him awesome and badass, and that his awesomeness was also sort of the joke. But in this case, the joke is the joke, and that degree of irony itself is ALSO the joke, and so on. Only highly adept satirical ninjas like Dave and his BRO can appreciate stuff like this. It's cool taking stuff that other people think is funny but you know really isn't, and making it funny again by adding subtle strata of irony which are utterly undetectable to the untrained eye.

Also, for good measure, Mr. T is wearing a LEATHER THONG and handcuffed to a pantsless CHUCK NORRIS PUPPET._ God, I hope I can be as good as my BRO at this some day. I'd never tell him that though._ Dave attempts to find LIL' CAL to give him a fist bump, but CAL's nowhere in sight. All he sees is a bunch of his BRO's weird nude puppets strewn around haphazardly. _I...I guess these things are kinda cool. Sort of… _Dave plays a game on the Xbox. It looks like BRO was playing. It's not like him to leave in the middle of some totally intense gaming. Not like him to misplace CAL either... man Dave hopes the little guy's alright.

_Oh there you are dude. Didn't see you there. We be chill today, Cal? Yeah you better fuckin' believe we be chill._ Cal is the man. Dave attempts to resist the urge to play BRO's xbox, but fails miserably. Dave starts thrashing up stunts something uncannybrutal on his quest for "MAD SNACKS YO" and get this way rude hunger under control. Shit is basically flying off the hook. It's like shit wants nothing to do with that hook. The hook is dead to that shit.

But he gets stuck in some poorly modeled 3D fixture or something. Like a railing or a piece of the wall? He'll have to reset. Fuck this shit. Dave goes to give LIL' CAL a fist bump, holding his fist over his head lamely. _Aw man I almost forgot. Gotta give the C-man some props._ Dave's BRO has so much sweet gear it's hard to keep up with it all sometimes. He's usually got a lot of stuff cooking on his computer at any given moment. Since he's not around Dave might as well sneak a peep.

His BRO's computer is password protected of course to protect all the incredible top secret shit he's got on the burners. Of course Dave knows what the password is, and he knows Dave knows it, and they're both cool with that because the password is the most awesome thing it can be. He enters the password. On the desktop is a hodgepodge of unnamed folders to store all the stuff he's working on. No one can decipher BRO's organization system but him. He also tends to use the application COMPLETE BULLSHIT to keep up with the ludicrous amount of websites and news feeds he monitors to stay hip to the scene. Dave opens complete bullshit only to be confronted with the fact that it is, in fact, COMPLETE BULLSHIT.

Dave checks is SBANHJ had a sweet update. BRO keeps up with Dave's projects in his aggregator, just like he keeps up with BRO's. He's tuned into your various blogs, and of course SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF. Dave navigates to the LATEST COMIC in one of the many BULLSHIT FEEDBANDS. Dave mouses over the stripe containing plush rump, another one of his BRO's many ironic websites. The difference here is he rakes in thousands of dollars a month through this enterprise. SMUPPETS are a multi-billion dollar a year enterprise, and it's awfully hard to resist taking a firm squeeze from the plump udder of that cash cow.

Dave guesses he's messed around on this computer long enough. Better get a move on before it's too late for Rose, or worse yet, BRO catches him. But my God... the rumps. They are transfixing. He knows this is ironic and all, and his BRO reaches echelons of irony Dave could only dream of daring to fathom. But on rare occasions, when his guard is down, it all seems just a tad unsettling to him. Dave slowly fixes his glance to Cal. " Oh. Uh... Hey... Hey there, Cal." He gives Cal a nervous fist bump. Dave starts to flip the fuck out. (Without losing his cool, of course).

Dave checks his phone for pesterchums. Looks like Rose is finally logged in again. Dave wonders if she's ready yet or what.

TG: dont tell john this but i think he might have been right about the puppets

TG: theyre sort of starting to freak me out a little

TT: You're referring to your brother's collection?

TG: i mean dont get me wrong i think its cool and all

TG: the semi-ironic puppet thing or whatever

TG: or semi-semi ironic

TG: man i dont even know

TG: im just starting to think some of this shit is going a little far and its kind of fucked up

TT: I've seen his websites.

TT: I like them.

TG: haha yeah well YOU WOULD

TG: oh man i wish lil cal wouldnt look at me like that

TG: with those dead eyes jesus

TG: sometimes i dream that hes real and hes talking to me and i wake up in a cold sweat and basically flip the fuck out

TT: Interesting...

TG: oh god why did i just tell you my dream

TG: youre going to have a field day with that

TT: I am currently scrawling notes furiously into one of the many psychoanalysis journals I maintain for you. Published papers forthcoming.

TT: Because, you know, it's not like either of us have anything better to do at the moment than to evaluate each other's radically debilitating pathologies.

TG: yeah im gonna get moving

TG: oh have you heard from john

TG: hes not answering me

TT: He won't answer me either.

TG: alright im out

TG: later

Dave tries to ignore Cal and get the letter. He wanders over to the place where BRO keeps his sweet turntable gear. Man that setup is sweet. Dave feels pangs of jealousy whenever he walks by it. Really cool jealousy, though. Like the kind where instead of getting all worked up about it, you don't actually give a shit. One of his brother's rad and extremely expensive NINJA SWORDS is missing though. Dave knows this drill all too well. Trouble's a brewin'. Dave tries to take the remaining expensive sword, but it is taken right before his eyes. _What sword?_ he thinks.

Dave approaches the exit of his brother's room, but there's something on the door he hasn't seen before. Looks like one of BRO'S ironic comics he left for him to check out. It is 2465% terrifying and confusing. So of course, Dave rips it up. Ok, some of this stuff he KNOWS his brother's just leaving around to get under his skin. This is obviously another ploy in his relentless siege of one-upsmanship to get his goat (the same goat Dave's been meaning to bleat like ironically, but that will still have to wait for a more appropriate time). Dave thinks BRO knows that deep down Dave feels like he's still not ironic enough to get stuff like this, and this is probably some weird gauntlet BRO's throwing down to see if you will "GET IT". But honestly Dave thinks this material is just a little TOO ironic.

Dave just doesn't need to see this shit right now. He goes into the kitchen, where there is no sign of BRO either. Well, aside from the absurd quantity of awesome dangerous stuff he leaves lying around. Dave decides to mix the blender, which has a puppet in it. He guesses BRO stuck some FAKE BLOOD CAPSULES in that puppet. Pretty gross. He spots one of his BRO'S many WEBCAMS nearby, recording the incident. It seems Dave may have just been an unwitting accessory to some sort of grisly puppet snuff film. He is not totally sure how he feels about that. He chopped the head off of the WEBCAM PUPPET. He sticks it in the blender and sets it to "Crush Ice." It's just sort of bouncing around in there. Dave's making a bit of a mess now. He tries to hide the evidence in the microwave, but it was already smacked full of SMUPPETS. See, like, his hobbies are cool and all, and you guess he's got to put his shit SOMEWHERE. But what if Dave just wanted to heat up a burrito or something?

He takes all the fireworks the sink has to offer, and he just KNOWS these are going to come in handy. Why would they be in the sink if they weren't? Looks like one of them is still stuck in the GARBAGE DISPOSAL. This kitchen is pretty much useless. As was this series of events, and many of those following. Dave attempts to take the skateboard from underneath a SMUPPET. _And just what is this guy so happy about? What's he looking at up there?_ Dave thinks if he sees one more soft, bulbous bottom being like kind of jutting out and impudent or whatever he's gonna fly off the handle. He slices the nose off of the SMUPPET. It's a tactic notoriously employed by noobs, but Dave just doesn't care about that now. Besides, it's not like BRO is around to see. Or is he…..

A black flash appears suddenly, suspiciously shaped like BRO himself, leaving Lil' Cal behind Dave on the stove. Dave horrified, jump backed in the lamest way humanly possible whilst maintaining a stoic expression. _Oh, it was just Lil' Cal again. I can never stay mad at him._ Anyway, Dave's got to get this way rude hunger under control. He figures he oughta scope the fridge for some grub. This hunger is so ill-mannered it would make a room full of snooty dowagers commit mass suicide.

_Oh god, more shitty swords._ Dave opened the refrigerator, and was almost pumled by swords. Of course he knew these were in here. He's not even sure why he looked. If he wants to keep any food or beverages in this apartment, he pretty much got no choice but to hide stuff away in his closet. Because it is so fucking hot, Dave uses the ICE MAKER, which dispenses SEVERAL CHERRY BOMBS.

_Wait... who's that looking at me in the reflection of the fridge?_ Dave sees Lil' Cal's creepy-ass face. When he searched for call, he moved yet again. -Where'd the little dude scamper off to this time?- (He was on top of the fridge the whole time. Poor tiny Dave.) For no reason, Dave shoves the PURPLE SMUPPET WITH A CUT OFF NOSE in the disposal. Dave is still not sure what he's so happy about, or what he's looking at up he's at it, he dumps the contents of the BLENDER, or WHIRLING BLADE PITCHER, into the disposal. But he suffers an unfortunate GARBAGE DISPOSAL HEAD JAM. Dave notices something in the reflection. Something above him. In bloody red, a puzzle piece saying "HELLO DAVE." was written in the crawlspace on the ceiling. (The hatch to the crawlspace above your apartment.) BRO'S always tucking away in there when he's busting out his rad stealth stunts. He's so slick that dangling cord never even jostles. Dave just knows he's being ironic with these weird mind games. There's no way anyone could be serious about aping those shitty movies.

Dave made a fort using turntables and cinder blocks. It's a pretty sweet fort you just made and you're pretty sure your brother would agree. Under different circumstances, you might be high-fiving over it right now. But rather than get inside and take her for a spin, you really just need to use it to get up to that hatch. Dave yanks the chord. _It is time to face your destiny. No going back now._

SO MANY FUCKING SMUPPETS EXPLODE FROM OUT OF THE HATCH SO MANY BUBLOLUS ASSES SMACK THE YOUNG CHILD'S FACE. THE CHILD IS HORRIFIED. HE SINKS IN DESPAIR AS PUPPET BUTT STROKES HIS FACE ROMANTICALLY AS IF IT WAS THE HAND OF A LOVER. HE FUMES WITH ANGER UNDERNEATH THE ORGY OF SMUT PUPPETS. _Yeah, there was pretty much no way there wasn't going to be a bunch of puppets in there._

Dave pesters Rose from the pile.

TG: youre the one who should be wrist deep in puppet ass

TT: What is the specific problem?

TG: the problem is i am up to my goddamn neck in fucking puppet dong

TT: You know you like the mannequin dick. Accept it.

TG: i am enrobed in chafing, wriggling god fucking damned puppet pelvis

TG: an obscenely long, coarse kermit cock is being dragged across my anguished face

TT: Let's put this into perspective. You put up with the puppet prostate because you love it.

TT: Also, coarse is a good word.

TG: you dont seem to harbor any sympathy for the fact that ive burrowed fuck deep into lively, fluffy muppet buttock

TG: im whirling in the terrible cyclone at the epicenter of my own personal holocaust of twitching foam noses

TG: its like a fucking apocalypse of perky proboscis here

TG: like

TG: the proboscalypse i guess

TT: Are you going to start rapping about this?

TG: what no

TG: no listen

TT: Prong of flesh bereft of home

TT: Found solace 'twixt a cleft of foam.

TG: no oh jesus

TT: Of apocalypse your thoughts eclipse

TT: A painted pair of parted lips

TT: That dare through kiss to stir the air

TT: That teases tufts of orange hair.

TT: And though faces flush in lovers' fits,

TT: Hands snug in plush as gloves befit.

TG: ok dickinson if you can shut your perfumey trap for a half second

TG: this is serious

TG: i am just saying

TG: if i see one more soft bulbous bottom being like

TG: kind of jutting out and impudent or whatever

TG: im gonna fly off the handle

TG: im gonna do some sort of acrobatic fucking PIROUETTE off the handle and win like a medal or some shit

TT: Then let's hope there will be a squishy derriere somewhere below the handle to break your fall.

Dave reads the note one the hatch, it reads:

"bro.

roof. now.

bring cal.

where doing it man where MAKING THIS HAPPEN"

Dave bursts out of the puppet pile like "the one", lamely cutting up a bunch of puppets with a cool facade behind it all. He ascends to the highest part of the building. He smashes the note in his hand, looks up into the sunset with determination, does an ACROBATIC FUCKING PIROUETTE on the fridge to grab Cal, grabs his sword, kicks in the door to the staircase, runs up the staircase, the city skyline illuminating his cool shades. He is quickly overwhelmed by his brothers presence, and just barely sees Cal get taken out the corner of his eye. He youth rolls onto a higher part of the building, and kicks some ass. Some.

BRO totally won. Cal gets fucked up real bad tho. Dave mourns his death. See you little dude. _If I had any more APPLE JUICE I would pour some out for my homie._ He'll have to remember to double-check his closet for more juice. Dave finally acquires his invite to SBURB Academy.

This school was straight up fucking ugly. Dave can't associate with a school that looks like that. All the blogs he ironically maintains will loose all of its followers, UNIRONICALLY. Dave didn't go through all that ninja-battling & crow-killing for fucking this man. Its _green. _


	4. DOC ENTER

blugh i'm just going to type DAVE [ENTER] and JADE [ENTER] later i wanted to get to this chapter fastest i could i was so exited. This is the most well developed story i've ever made.

* * *

The four friends stand close next to each other as they are herded to a tacky-ass green auditorium among many strange faces. There are grey people with horns, a man who looks like a featureless version of the jack-in-the-box guy wearing all green, and grayscale students wrapped almost completely in cloth. Its obvious that the American group sticks out the most. They remain silent out of fear of the men that herded them there. They appear to be painted green, wear flashy pool table hats with numbers, and mightn't exceed five feet tall. There mouths are not visible but they have a terrifying look of intimidation and status. The poor thirteen year-old nerds can't bring themselves to challenge the authority of those damn green goblins.

"GhHMM" Jack-in-the-box holds a green microphone on the stage and rudely clears his throat to alert the attention of the students. Everyone looks up, though the staff rolls their eyes. Everyone knows he's a fucking asshole. Even ones unfamiliar with American culture are aware that that guy's an asshole. "Hello students. I am your student-scouter, Doc Scratch. Just so you American students know don't ask later I'll go ahead and say it- No you can't call me Doc, you can't call me lightbulb, you can't call me jack-in-the-box, and to a certain non-american may I say it it absolutely unacceptable to refer to me as 'Mr. Vanilla Milkshake.' It is unacceptable to call me anything but Mr. Scratch. That goes for staff too." Doc seems to looks among the crowd, challenging everyone. It is not a question that he is glaring under that massive head. Even though his eyes aren't visible his intimidation very much is. He speaks in a english maybe south african accent with a malicious yet proper undertone. Its reminds Dave of lame villains in disney movies. Scar from the Lion King describes it best. Dave couldn't be any more right. Dave bets that asshole has knocked someone off a cliff. Or got someone to do that to someone else. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter.

"Today you are beginning education here at America's most prestigious and diverse Academy. All of you here can at least understand Primary-School-Level English, and have passed an entry test. Here we will not try to Americanize you, you can still have your cultures. However, we here are set at giving you the American education experience and preparing you for the most successful future." Mr. Vanilla Milkshake spoke the sentences in the most apathetic monotonous voice he could manage. He moves his head sassily like a bobblehead. Asshole. John bets he's dramatically rolling his eyes under that bulb. He is strangely expressive. "So, anyways down to business. We have several policies to cover. 1. Echeladder, 2. Boonbucks & Grist, 3. Culture Policy, 4. Lands, 5. Aspects, 6. Expulsion, and last but not least God Tier." The word God Tier raises almost every students' attention. Mr. Watts-it-to-ya (get it? like what's it to ya but he looks like a lightbulb?) groans at their excitement. He is usually less of an asshole for first impressions, but his boss has been riding his ass lately. Not literally. Maybe. But anyways, "The Echeladder is our perk system at the school. You get higher on the echeladder for your academic and social achievements." TIght-ass-Whitey (get it? like tighty whiteys?) then spoke in falsetto flailing his arms around "oh boy, doc! how do you know our social achievements?" He then deepens his voice satanically "I AM Watching. I AM always watching. I SEE ALL." as he says this green and black lightning effect flashed up behind him on a green presentation board no one had noticed because it was green like everything else. His gloved hand loosens the grip on his previously clenched-fist-held microphone when a metallic crack echoed through the auditoriums speaker. He broke the microphone wit his little moment. Scratch then waved his hand, stopping the affect and cleared his throat. "Ahum, anyways. Echeladder has random names sometimes depending on the student that the staff comes up with but that doesn't really matter each level comes with an award. Usually a hat. Hats are cool, right? Actually we don't really care if you think they're cool. You will get a hat."

"One of the awards you can get is boonbucks. They are our currency here. You have to use them to eat. Student are automatically given 20 a day. You lose or gain more based on your actions. We also have Grist which is another more useful award. Most look similar to the American treat 'gushers' made by our lord and saviour Betty Crocker. The ones you get rewarded depend on the person yet again. You can trade with others but it is frowned upon. These can be used in the alchemiter in exchange for personalized goods. The alchemiter is location is described on your map. You have to find it yourself. They are also rewarded for social and academic success, especially in defeating your 'imps', which is what we call 'challenges' here." He never explained the alchemiter though. How are the kids supposed to know what it looks like or what it does? The thing is he doesn't even care. He is such an asshole. Sayin' vague ass shit. Chill.

"Our culture policy is simple: Don't force your culture onto people without their consent, and you don't need to share your culture at all if you don't want to. You can stay within your own. Even though we have 100% integrated classes. We have cultureless rooms with exception to beds to not offend."

"Your dorm rooms here are called 'Lands.' They are individualised with two themes. The walls and paintings and furniture are all based off of the themes. Some don't make sense at all. But, hey. I didn't make the rules." He snapped his head in a seemingly random direction to "glare". Its not seemingly if you're me however, I know that he was in fact shooting a look at his boss through a not-well-hidden camera. "Lands are located in those large dorm houses over by the west border. The green one houses the Americans, the purple one houses the Trölls, so on, so forth. Each box in the dorm house has an individual room which is led up to by stairs. And ramps for one. They seem invisible at first but are tangible if you find them, I swear. The name of your dorm assigned to your culture and your land is written on your invitation under 'DO NOT OPEN UNLESS INSTRUCTED PART I.' You will open those after I leave. We don't need any unnecessary noise when I'm speaking." Doc Scratchpost sighs deeply. This is always his least favorite part to explain. Kids get all types of hype when they learn they are sorted into something that is based off their personality. Harry Potter houses ruined a generation of children.

"Next is aspects. They are based on the survey you completed during the admissions test." He says the next paragraphs as fast as he can. It is required for him to inform them along with the DO NOT OPEN UNLESS INSTRUCTED PART II brochure. Why can't they just read the brochure? "First is your title/class. People of a certain title are expected to behave a certain way to grow into their role and has special 'abilities.' For example, Thief will steal things to their own benefit, the passive Rogue will enhance their teammates, or their session with the stolen aspect or a thief is 'one who steals (aspect) from others', a rogue is 'one who steals from (aspect)'.The Prince, as the active, is literally simplified to 'destroyer of [aspect]' or 'one who destroys via [aspect]'. Bards are somewhat stranger, in that they 'allow destruction of [aspect]' or 'invite destruction through [aspect]'. The Bard is also quite the wildcard; unpredictable by nature and thus equally likely to help or hinder his party, often to great effect. Seers will keep their party from making grave mistakes, as if they had a strategy guide for Sburb imprinted deep in their understand their aspect comprehensively. Sylphs heals people's 'wounds'. Don't think that much into it. AND DON'T OPEN YOUR THING NOW YOU WERE NOT INSTRUCTED." A certain dirty-gray-rag-wearing black skinned kid froze from breaking the section's seal. How wayward of that vagabond. Punk as fuck.

"Aspects are more confusing. Great. One Time and one Space student are necessary poor dormhouse. Time students are allowed to undo their actions. Of course since this is the real world it can't be really undone, but we are supposed to just go along with it. They can redo an assignment they do badly with no consequences, they can walk out of a room and 'take back' a rude comment they said on accident. NO BULLYING IS TOLERATEd." "Space students are allowed to manipulate the school environment. They are responsible for breeding their dormhouse's mascot 'genesis' frog. The one with the best frog gets to decide what the newest dormhouse will look like next year.

They also are expected to have the best mastery over creation, either craft-wise or through the alchemiter." "Voids are allowed in places others are not and are good at finding them, Lights show to have better luck, Minds are better with decision making and logic based outcomes, Hearts are good with intuition, emotion and all that mushy-soul stuff, yada-yada, Rage, Hope and hope are difficult to explain, Doom are likely to sense pending expulsion, Lifes can 'resurrect' someone who was officially expelled, but only once."

"Expulsion is an interesting concept here. If you are expelled you go to the 'Dream Bubble' which was an idea established by a second year student. It is a little tough to not get expelled here as we dare people to get to their highest self by risking expulsion. Almost everyone here has been expelled at least once. You can be expelled twice without being sent to the Dream Bubble. When expelled once you have back up which we call your 'Derse' or 'Prospit' dreamer. Which you are was determined by the survey, and doesn't really matter. You'd just need to spend one class period in 'Derse' or 'Prospit' and wear the respective clothes while doing it. They are hideous." He makes a small sound similar to a deep evil chuckle. "That was not introduced by the same student. Staff members feel like its adequate punishment. Its been around since the school started. The Dream Bubbles are a place that the completely expelled students learn instead of being shipped back to their country. Americans are eligible too, just to be fair. It is built in a formerly broken-down building with mixed architecture that the staff messed up on. Derse or Prospit have to be crossed to go to the Dream Bubbles. Derse and Prospit are the only places students are allowed after curfew, when everyone is supposed to be asleep. Students are only allowed to visit their own after hours though. You can meet all kinds of students in the Dream Bubbles." The students seem uneasy about the fact that expulsion was such a loose concept. Was whoever decided expulsion rules out to expel everyone? Who was in charge? Why did he want this? Does he even know what expulsion means at this point? Whoever he is he must be a crazy-ass motherfucker. Semi-sociopathic to abuse such a power. Homies gettin expelled for tying their shoelace wrong. Playin' with student's and people observing's emotions. Feels, if you will.

"And last but not least, God Tier. God Tier is a way to be free of expulsion. You first have to be expelled though. But, you need to be expelled in a certain spot. In your room. How do you get expelled in your own room, you ask? I wont tell you. If you knew how you can get expelled it would take all the fun out of it."

"Oh, but actually your'e _not_ free of expulsion. You _can_ get truly expelled if you get expelled for heroism or if you 'deserve' expulsion." The Milk Dud made a slight chuckle. "However, you do receive dapper clothing for reaching God Tier. Sometimes you also get stronger 'abilities'. That's a plus."


End file.
